I wrote this book because I wanted to: I wanted to see if I could, I wanted to share what I see, I wanted to spark questions, and, most of all, I wanted to do so as a lay person.

This book was written every afternoon for a year during naptime. It was written in gardens and my imagination. It was written, one moment at a time, and that is the way faith is for me. I will be sitting, exactly where my planner says I should be trying to parse out Important Ideas, and suddenly tiny hand prints on the walls of the church will turn my head around. There! There is God. The church is all aged granite, serious and profound, and there on one of the columns are two twin handprints, thumbs almost touching, perfect in their impertinence—a reminder that incarnation is sweaty, dirty, and invasive.